


A Summer in LA

by melturheadaches



Category: PHASES (Band), Panic! at the Disco, The Young Veins
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Anxiety, F/M, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-07-27 14:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7621477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melturheadaches/pseuds/melturheadaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon didn't expect hospitality or kindness or a place to stay. Most of all, he didn't expect falling in love with his driver, or a hectic summer in LA. All he expected was a ride for a few hours and to get dropped off on the side of the road, but that certainly wasn't what he got.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The corn swayed softly under the cerulean sky, the only sound the hum of a tractor somewhere nearby. The asphalt from the road chipped at Brendon Urie’s feet as he sat on the wooden roadside fence, nervously swinging his legs and waiting for a car to drive by. His backpack lay by his feet, uncomfortably empty after the last night’s events. 

A red Ford rove by. Brendon stuck out a thumb and stood, but all he got was a glance and the smell of exhaust as the truck drove away. He sighed and sat back down on the fence, kicking a chunk of the road. It was the third car that hour that had passed him, and this town was probably the slowest place he’d been since someone dropped him off on I-10 in Texas, 100 miles from any civilization, basically the middle of the desert. 

The sun was high in the sky, and sweat was beginning to run down Brendon’s face. It was June 1st, 1969, the dawn of summer, and Brendon’s 18th birthday. Exactly one year after he’d told his father he was gay, and his father had told him to get out of his house. Since then, he’d been wandering the US, from New York to Miami to San Francisco, all by hitching rides from kind (or not so kind) strangers. 

The man last night had been not so kind. After driving Brendon all the way to “Bliss, Idaho,” he’d pressed him up against the side of the truck and told him through gritted teeth to empty his backpack into the passenger seat, and that if he did anything funny he’d get to see the gun he kept in the backseat. With a clenched jaw, he’d unzipped his bag and emptied it. In some small act of kindness, the stranger had let him keep his books, A Season in Hell and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and his guitar. It was little solace after losing everything he owned, including money and food. 

His stomach rumbled, but he’d been far longer without food before. A human could survive for up to 21 days without food, and he doubted it would come to that. Someone would pick him up, give him a buck or two out of pity. Maybe even treat him to dinner, if they were of the nicer breed. In LA, which was where he hoped to go after “Bliss,” he could get out and busk a little for cash, meet some people. He hoped to stay for a few months in LA, whether that meant settling down or just taking a break from the road. 

The sound of another car came down the highway and Brendon leapt up, thumb out, his most pitiful expression plastered on his face. It was another Ford, this time a brown 1965 Country Squire. It slowed to a stop and Brendon headed towards the back door, making eye contact with the driver. He had longer brown hair, not as dark as Brendon’s, but certainly not light, and was definitely attractive. The man jutted his chin towards the passenger seat, and Brendon adjusted his path, opening the shotgun door instead. 

“You can throw the guitar in the backseat, just watch out for Dottie,” said the driver. Brendon glanced back to see a hound sitting on a red blanket laid over the leather seat. He assumed this was “Dottie” and placed his guitar case on the other side of the seat, careful not to hit the dog. Once it was secure, he turned around in the passenger seat, facing the driver. They’d started moving, and the corn to the side of the road was quickly starting to blur.

“So what’s your name? Where’re you going?” asked the driver, suddenly barraging his passenger with more conversation than he’d grown accustomed to in the previous weeks. 

“Oh,” said Brendon, wide-eyed, “I’m Brendon. I’d prefer to go to LA, but anywhere works. What’s your name?” He wasn’t used to things like this anymore, things like normal conversation and asking for names. Most people he met those days seemed to only communicate via grunts— grunting when he told them where he was headed, grunting when he was supposed to get out of their car. There was the occasional small talk, or a particularly nice driver who wanted to know where he was from, where he was going and why. 

“Ryan,” the driver said, “And that back there is Dottie, if you didn't catch it. We're heading to Portland, then LA. You play guitar?” Ryan gestured back at the guitar case.

“Yeah,” said Brendon. It was nice to have someone interested in what he had to say for once. 

"You release anything I would've heard of?" Ryan asked. 

Brendon laughed, "If I had, would I be hitchhiking to LA?" he asked.

Ryan nodded, "Yeah, you're right. I'm a bit of a musician myself, guitar's in the trunk. I just play for fun though, not like it's a career." 

"Not really for me, either."

In the back, Dottie the hound whined. "Could you hand her a treat?" asked Ryan, "They're in a little bag at your feet."

Brendon reached down and picked out a little piece of what looked like beef jerky, and twisted around to feed it to the dog. She stood up, tail wagging, and took it out of his hand then sat back down.

"She'll like you now that you've fed her," said Ryan, "Although probably not as much as me." He laughed and kept driving. Soon they were out of the sea of corn Brendon had been picked up in, and were on the plains, with hills and mountains in the distance. 

"How long have you been out here?" asked Ryan. He'd lit a cigarette and was slowly smoking it, spending most of his time dangling it out the window with one arm. 

"A year, actually," Brendon said. It was strange to think it had been a whole year since he'd been forced to get the hell out of Utah. He hadn't been back to the state since, which was perfectly fine in his eyes. Utah was the pits of hell as far as he was concerned, and not worth missing. Anyone who did miss it was probably lying to themselves. 

Ryan nodded, "That's a while to be out here. You've just traveled around, I guess? Visited a bunch of cities?"

"Pretty much," Brendon said. Ryan had obviously never hitchhiked, but there was definitely a lot of traveling involved. And Brendon had gotten to see a lot of sights, like the Grand Canyon a few months back, and once he'd stayed the night with some guys in New York City. New York was probably his favorite place so far, with all the music and clubs and food. 

"Sounds pretty great," said Ryan. 

That was true, partly, but Brendon had just been mugged by a stranger in Bliss, Idaho. Brendon's life had its moments, some good and some bad. Which outweighed the other, he wasn't sure. 

They kept on driving. The scenery was like that in North Texas, if Brendon was remembering correctly. Plain, nothing around but the mountain peaks far in the distance and a few bushes here and there. At least here, he thought, there was grass. That hadn't been the case of the deserts in Texas. 

An hour in, Brendon took out one of his books, A Season in Hell, and started to read. He'd already gone through it at least fifty times and it was covered in pen markings, but what else was the man supposed to do while sitting shotgun in a stranger's car? At least with A Season in Hell he was reading art, rather than staring out the window at the bleak landscape. 

"You read Rimbaud?" asked Ryan, suddenly taking notice of the book. Brendon's wristwatch read that it was five PM, and the sun was starting to set in the pair's eyes. Dottie was snoring loudly in the backseat. 

Brendon looked up from his page, "Well, only this. But I'd like to read more, I guess." 

Ryan beamed, "Well, I've got a collection of everything he ever wrote at my place in LA, if you care to come see it."

"I take it you're a fan of his?" Brendon asked. He'd found the book at the public library right before he left Utah. His overdue fees were probably through the roof at this point, but since he was never going back, there was really nothing to worry about. He doubted they would accept it back anyways, with all the writing and annotations all over it.

"Yeah, you could say that," said Ryan. He had a certain gleam in his eye Brendon hadn't noticed before, perhaps from the setting sun, or how excited he was to talk about the poet. 

"He is a good writer," Brendon said, closing the book over his hand. 

Ryan sighed, "I just wish more people knew him. I hadn't met anyone else who'd read A Season before you." 

"Well, I've probably read it fifty times, I guess that makes up for it." 

"Not much reading material on the road?" Ryan asked. 

Brendon shook his head, "Nah."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryan nod, but not reply. They sat in silence for just a little longer before Ryan switched the radio on, the brazen tune of some pop song filling the air. He changed the channel from song to song until Joan Baez came on, a nice slow melody for the sunset. At some point he'd slipped on some Aviator sunglasses, a bit too expensive-looking for Brendon to ever hope to own them. 

As night fell, a sudden realization hit Brendon. Where was he going to sleep? He figured the passenger seat would be fine, and his back had gotten used to uncomfortable positions in cars over the last year. But would Ryan even let him sleep in the car? Some people weren't the most comfortable when it came to strangers sleeping in their vehicles, and usually they just dropped him off around sunset and let it be. It seemed that Ryan intended to take him all the way to LA, which would take at least another day or two, depending on how long he planned on stopping in Portland. 

He decided to let things play out. That would lead to the least anxiety, and Ryan seemed like a nice enough guy to let him stay in the car. Brendon couldn’t imagine he’d do anything too awful, but sometimes the people he met were unpredictable, and that only made hitchhiking more terrifying. 

“So when do you think we’re gonna stop for the night?” he asked, finally getting weary of the time. 

Ryan shrugged, “I was hoping to reach Portland tonight, and if we left Bliss around two we should be arriving soon. You doing okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” said Brendon. He was used to driving by now, and even on those rare occasions he got carsick, maybe on a twisting mountain pass, he wouldn’t show it. A friend back in Las Vegas had once told him he was like a cat, never showing that he was sick or in pain. If anything, he was just tired now, but Ryan showed no signs of fatigue. It was if he hadn’t been driving for almost seven and a half hours, and who knew how long before that. 

As they pulled up to the lights of Portland around 10 PM, Brendon wondered what the fuck he was doing. He didn’t stay with people. His engagements and “friendships” lasted no more than 24 hours. This was almost like two college buddies taking a road trip, complete with what was almost a sense of camaraderie. Maybe it was their shared interest in Rimbaud, or music, but there was something different about this ride that Brendon had happened to hitch, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. However, if he was getting all the way to LA with this little “friendship” he could handle it. 

The car pulled up the driveway of a dark Victorian house. The yard was full of bushes and trees, hiding most of the house. For a moment Brendon wondered what he was doing, going into a stranger’s home that may or may not even belong to Ryan. It was pretty stupid, and he was pretty sure his dad had warned against things like this when he was a kid, although most of what his dad had said was pretty much bullshit. Ryan seemed like a nice guy, and if Brendon died it would be little loss to the universe. 

“You wanna grab your stuff?” asked Ryan, nodding towards the backseat where Dottie sat at attention and Brendon’s guitar lay. 

“Oh, yeah,” stammered Brendon. It was late and he was tired. The day had seemed longer than most, perhaps because it really had been long. Brendon hadn’t felt particularly safe after getting mugged at 3 AM, especially since the man in the truck had taken his knife. Wanting to get an early start he’d decided to simply stick it out until the next evening, which had been a mistake. In the end he’d taken a nap until 2 PM in the corn field and then tried to hitch a ride for an hour, before getting picked up by Ryan. 

He stepped out of the car and opened the back door, grabbing his guitar case and hoisting it out. Ryan had opened the other back door, and was letting Dottie out and grabbing his own backpack. It was obviously much more full than Brendon’s, probably with food and clothes and actual supplies. Things that Brendon no longer had. He couldn’t help but feel his stomach growl as the pair walked up to the front door of the house, Dottie in close pursuit as she sniffed the plants growing next to the sidewalk. 

“So, um, is this your house?” Brendon asked, glancing at Ryan’s face in the dark. 

Ryan laughed, “No, my friends Z and Alex and his girlfriend live here. Along with a few other people, but they come and go. Like stray cats, kinda, come back when they need feeding.” Brendon hoped Z and Alex would be feeding him, considering he hadn’t eaten in twenty four hours. 

“Oh, cool,” said Brendon. They walked up the steps and Ryan rang the doorbell. The door had a glass window and lights were on behind it, and soon enough footsteps came towards the door. 

“Ryan!” yelled a woman’s voice. Brendon couldn’t see her face, the light from inside made her nothing but a silhouette, but soon she and Ryan were wrapped in a hug. “It’s been way too long,” she said into the man’s shoulder. 

The two shuffled back into the house and Brendon stood awkwardly, not sure if he should come inside or not. Luckily, the two pulled away. 

“And who is this?” the woman with long blonde hair and a sharp nose, presumably Z, asked. She was looking Brendon up and down, studying him. He looked like shit, and his lack of shaving for the last couple days probably wasn’t helping him look particularly trustworthy, as far as most people’s biases went. 

“Oh,” Ryan said, as if he’d just remembered that he’d brought Brendon along at all, “This is Brendon. He’ll be staying tonight too.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Brendon, I’m Z.” She stuck out a hand and Brendon rushed to put his guitar case down to shake it, probably looking like even more uncomfortable and awkward than before. After finally shaking hands, Z turned to Ryan, “What did I just hear about only staying the night?” 

A tall, slim man with dark hair and thick eyebrows walked into the foyer, wearing nothing but loose pants and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. “Hey! Ryan!” Ryan rushed to meet the man, probably happy to get out of the conversation with Z, and the two shook hands. 

“Hey Alex,” said Ryan, “This is Brendon, he’ll be staying tonight.” 

Alex nodded, looking at Brendon just like Z had. “Alright, cool man. You heading out tomorrow?” 

Ryan nodded, “Sadly, yeah. Gotta get back home, man. It’s been too long, Dottie’s getting homesick.” 

“Something tells me New York was just too cold for your Californian ass,” Z piped in, “Now do you two wanna bring your bags in or just sit in the foyer all night?” 

The foursome laughed, and Z led the two men up the creaking stairs into a dark hallway. “Do you two want the twin beds or-”

“Twin beds,” Ryan interrupted. Brendon frowned, wondering what exactly Z was going to say. There was some interesting eye contact between the man and woman, then Z led them down the hall into an even darker room, flipping the lightswitch. 

“Welcome to your room for the night. Bathroom’s down the hall, if you need anything just yell. Kitchen’s downstairs, if you care for a midnight snack. If Dottie needs food, I think we’ve got some cat food, but I guess you’ve probably got that covered.”

Ryan winked, “You know me.” Brendon remembered him throwing a treat back to Dottie. He was certainly the best pet-owner he’d met in his life, if the last eight hours were any example. 

Z left without a goodbye and closed the door behind her. 

“Thanks for hooking me up with all this,” Brendon said, realizing he probably needed to thank Ryan somehow. “Most people, you know, they just drop me off somewhere and expect me to survive on my own. Which I can do, it’s just nice to have a place to stay for once—”

“It’s totally cool, man,” Ryan said, opening his bag, “Anything for a fellow Rimbaud fan.” He smiled, and Brendon wondered how he’d managed to get such straight teeth. Had it been that way naturally, or did he get braces? He wanted to say something, but decided it would be a bit strange to complement an almost-stranger on his teeth. 

“You gonna hit the sack?” Ryan asked, pulling a shirt out of his bag. 

Brendon shrugged, “Probably. It’s been a long day.” 

“Well, I’m gonna change, and I’ll be downstairs after that. Give you some privacy.” Brendon smiled and turned to his own bag, now totally empty. He hadn’t even thought about clothes, and now he only had one outfit, the one he was wearing. That was probably going to be a problem, and though he didn’t have much shame, he sure as hell didn’t want Ryan seeing him wearing the same, nasty outfit for three days. 

For now, he decided, he wouldn’t worry about it. Ryan would probably leave his life in less than 48 hours and then they’d never meet again, and he was not to be worried about. And he would be understanding, even if he did notice. Maybe even lend Brendon a shirt, if he continued this streak of kindness. 

Downstairs, he heard yelling and cheering and wondered if he should go get something to eat. In the excitement of meeting everyone he’d momentarily forgotten that he was literally starving, but now that people were downstairs it felt impolite to go and get food. He really was hungry, and though he’d heard somewhere that a human could last up to twenty one days without food, it felt like he was dying now. 

So he inched out the door and downstairs, hoping to not get noticed. Z had said the kitchen was downstairs, and Ryan thought he’d gotten a glimpse of it while climbing upstairs. He knew he wouldn’t take much, just some bread for a sandwich and some cheese. Nothing more than sustenance until he got to LA. He could make friends in LA, maybe even find a job.  
That would really be the life, but for now, he was inching down the stairs, trying not to make them creak or the banister groan. He wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t want to be seen, but the idea of it was terrifying. Perhaps it was because of the fact he was helping himself to stranger’s food in a stranger’s house, but whatever the case, it was terrifying. 

There was laughter coming from the living room, and Brendon hoped that everyone was there, distracted. He reached the bottom of the stairs, and darted across the foyer into the kitchen. The room was well-lit, and the the fridge buzzed in the corner. That was his goal. 

He shuffled to the fridge and opened the door, only to be interrupted. “You doing alright?” asked a man’s voice, Ryan’s voice. Brendon turned around, eyes wide.

“Oh, yeah, I’m good. Just getting a sandwich!” He felt his face turn red and he leaned against the fridge, tensing up and crossing his arms. 

Ryan nodded, “That’s good. I heard your stomach growling, I guess you don't have much food in that backpack of yours?”

“Oh, no,” said Brendon, “I actually got mugged last night, funny thing.” He tried to play it down, keep Ryan from getting too invested. He didn’t need Ryan giving him help, then expecting something in return. That would only tie him down. 

Ryan frowned, leaning against the doorway, “How much did he take? I mean, we can totally give you some cash, food, if you need it.”

Brendon shook his head, “No, it’s totally fine, I don’t really need it. I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” Ryan asked. He was frowning. “It’s really no problem, Alex and Z give out money all the time, and they won’t mind the food.”

“It’s really okay. I’m just gonna make myself a sandwich here and wait until we get to LA.” The idea of waiting to eat again until LA was a bit terrifying, but Brendon figured he could make it. He’d be fine. 

Ryan didn’t seem totally convinced, but Brendon had shut him up well enough. He knew for a fact that he’d be offering Brendon food again with every chance he had. 

“I’m gonna go back to the living room,” Ryan said, backing out of the kitchen. 

“Ok. Thanks for the offer.” 

Ryan walked away, leaving a horrible feeling of awkwardness that choked the air. Brendon turned back to the fridge and pulled out sliced ham and cheese, ready to just get over this ordeal and go to sleep. His shoulders ached and the cornfield hadn’t been a wonderful bed the night before, as one might expect. 

The bread sat in a clear bag on the counter, and soon enough Brendon had a sandwich. Not wanting to stay downstairs any longer, he rushed upstairs, stuffing the bread and ham into his mouth. His heart was beating fast and his blood rushing in his ears, so much so that he couldn’t even hear the sound of talking in the living room.

Once upstairs, he sat on the floor to eat, not wanting to get crumbs on the bed. For someone who rarely had access to a shower, Brendon was surprisingly clean.. He’d always been like that, worried about offending or upsetting anyone. Maybe it came from his over-critical dad, or some other origin he hadn’t even thought of yet, but that was the way Brendon was.

The sandwich wasn’t filling, but it was enough for the time being. Maybe he’d be able to snag something else for breakfast, some toast or eggs or just some yogurt. At least he wasn’t going to bed starving now. 

He took off his shirt and folded it nicely before placing it on the foot of the bed, safe until the morning. His bag lay on the ground, mostly empty but still there. After checking that everything was safe, he climbed into the twin-size bed and pulled the quilt over himself, reaching out to turn the lamp off next to him. In the dark, he fell asleep almost instantly.

Just a few hours later, a rustling sound woke him up. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at the clock. It was 3 AM. He turned his eyes towards the noise, not moving. At the foot of the bed was a shadow, bent over to Brendon’s bag, leaning against the bedpost. 

The figure stood, and Brendon recognized it as Ryan as his eyes grew adjusted to the dark. Ryan moved away to his bed, and Brendon continued to watch as the man sat down and took of his shirt before lying down as well. What was he doing? Brendon didn’t have anything to steal, so the only option was that he’d given. Bastard. He was so set on helping Brendon when he didn't even need it, as much as it may have seemed. Maybe he’d keep this gift, though. It was rude to refuse something, but he’d mention it in the morning if he remembered. That felt like the best thing to do. 

With the decision to talk to Ryan fresh on his mind, Brendon drifted back to sleep with the sound of his new roommate tossing and turning in the background.


	2. Chapter 2

Brendon woke up to a hand on his shoulder and light in his eyes. The previous night’s sleep had been good, although it might have been a coma brought on by sheer exhaustion. 

“Brendon?” asked a voice. Standing above him was Ryan, fully clothed with wet hair. "You've gotta get up, man," he said. Brendon groaned, but sat up.

His abs ached, and Brendon suddenly remembered how much he'd walked the day before, trying to get as far away from his mugger as possible. He'd walked from one side of Bliss to the other, and then some, at least a good two or three miles in the sun. Even with his life on the road, Brendon didn't walk, he rode. Walking long distances wasn't something he was used to.

"I'll be right there," Brendon said, rubbing his eyes. 

Ryan smiled, “Alright. We've got breakfast cooking downstairs.”

The smell of eggs and toast reached his nose and Brendon almost grinned, but he didn't want Ryan to see that he was hungry. That would make Ryan help him, and God knew he didn't want that. 

Ryan left the room rubbing a towel over his hair and Brendon stood, pulling on the same shirt from yesterday. Then he remembered the night before, waking up with Ryan rummaging through his bag. Tensely, he reached for his bag and hoisted it onto the bed, praying Ryan hadn't stolen his last hope, his books. 

Looking in the bag, Brendon realized he hadn't stolen. In fact, Brendon probably would've minded less if he'd stolen, but last night Ryan had put food in his bag as well as a twenty dollar bill. Brendon sighed and rummaged through everything. He'd been given a couple candy bars, as well as a loaf of bread and something wrapped in foil. 

Brendon wasn't sure what to do, and rejecting this would be worse than just accepting it. As much as Brendon hated it, Ryan was so set on helping him there wasn't much Brendon could do.

Brendon zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder, still not used to the lightness of it. In the mirror Brendon checked his hair, slightly greasy as usual, but not too bad. Brendon wished he’d woken up earlier, a shower would've been nice, but Brendon could find a chance somewhere down the road. Maybe Ryan would even lend him one at his place, being so set on generosity and all. 

After running a hand through his hair, Brendon opened the bedroom door and headed down the hall. The smell of breakfast hit him even harder now, permeating the whole house by that point. He walked downstairs and into the kitchen door. 

"Look who decided to join us," said Z, spotting him and smiling. 

"Hey," Brendon said, looking into the room. It wasn't very big, and with both Z and Alex cooking in the small space things were getting cramped. 

"Breakfast'll be ready soon," said Z. She stirred scrambled eggs in a pan while Alex watched the toaster vigilantly. Dottie wandered around their feet, nose in the air while she sniffed out the food. 

Z went back to breakfast and Brendon wandered to the next room, the dining room. There was a large table in the middle, with at least eight chairs sitting around it. On one side sat Ryan, reading a book of his own, and on the other a girl Brendon hadn't met, presumably Alex's girlfriend. 

"Hey sleepyhead," said Ryan, looking up from his book. Brendon ached to ask him about the food he'd given him, but Brendon didn't want to do that here. Not with a stranger here and more people in just the other room. 

"Hey," Brendon replied, sitting down across from him. "What're you reading?" Brendon asked. 

Ryan picked up his book ad showed the cover, “The Odyssey,” he said. A Greek play, if Brendon remembered correctly from seventh grade theater class. 

“Interesting,” Brendon said, raising an eyebrow. The book seemed old, the pages yellowing and cover ripped in one place. Brendon wondered if he’d bought it used, or if he was the original owner. He seemed like the kind of guy who would buy used books, shop in old bookstores and look for classics. Used books were certainly cheaper, that was for sure. Brendon had been raised on used books, his dad not wanting to pay anything but the bare minimum. 

“Who wants eggs first?” called Alex, walking into the dining room with a massive plate of scrambled eggs. 

“Give them to Brendon,” said Ryan, jutting his chin towards him.

Brendon shook his head, “No, it’s alright--”

 

“It’s fine, man, we’re all getting them eventually!” Alex proceeded to shovel a mountain of eggs onto his plate, as well as adding a piece of toast. Brendon forced a smile and grabbed a fork, a little happy to be forced to eat. At least Brendon wasn’t asking for food, he hated to feel like he was taking. 

Alex's girlfriend was the next to get eggs, then Ryan. He'd put his book down beside his plate and Dottie scrambled into the room, following the scent of the eggs. Brendon had forgotten how much he missed dogs. Just goofy dogs, living their lives. Dottie was a sweetheart and had more personality than some humans he'd met. 

"So are you two leaving after breakfast?" asked Alex's girlfriend. Brendon still hadn't learned her name, but didn't want to ask this late. 

"Yep," said Ryan, mouth full of egg. He'd covered his mouth with his hand but his words were barely intelligible, "Heading for the house in LA."

Brendon wondered if he had other houses than the one in LA. He didn't seem too stretched for money, and he never had specified what his job was. Ryan didn't seem like the type to have a corporate job like a banker or businessman, but anyone would be anything these days. Brendon was going to be a scientist, he’d always said so, and Brendon ended up a hitchhiker, a homeless man. He hated to think of himself like that, a hobo, traveling the roads with no real home, practically begging. Brendon preferred to think of himself as the men in country songs like Johnny Cash's highwaymen cruising across the country from car to car. 

“So where’re you from, Brendon?” asked Alex. 

“Originally, Utah. But right now I’m kind of drifting.” “Drifting” was a nice way of saying that Brendon didn’t have a home to go to. He was just floating around the US until he died, or by some miracle found somewhere he could fathom living in. 

Alex’s girlfriend, still nameless, watched from her spot at the table. “So why’re you going to LA? Getting a job or something?”

 

Brendon almost laughed. Him, getting a job? “Oh, no, no job. I’m just seeing the sights, you know. Resting.” 

“So you’ve been traveling for a while?” Z asked. 

“A year.” Brendon wasn’t sure if his year on the road felt shorter or longer than it really had been. Some days when he looked back on the boy who’d run from his father a year ago, it felt like a decade, but other days just a few weeks. Sometimes the hours seemed to slip by, and other times they dragged on forever. 

Z averted her attention to Ryan. “I think you two should stay another day. We have space for you, none of us mind. 

“Sorry, Z, but I’ve gotta get to LA. And I promised Brendon over here that we’d get to LA as soon as possible.” 

The blonde woman sighed, “I know, alright. It’s just been so long, Ry, you gotta visit more often. You make us worried.” 

Ryan laughed, “I’m fine, Mom.” Z rolled her eyes, and put down her fork, done eating. 

“Well if you really want to leave today, you guys should probably get going. It’s ten already,” Z said, picking up her plate and walking back towards the kitchen. 

Alex nodded, looking across the room at a clock hanging on the wall, “Yeah, it is getting late.” 

Ryan stood up and grabbed his own plate, and Brendon followed in close pursuit. All this talk about his past and plans was making him anxious and tense. He didn’t know what he was going to do, and he hardly comprehended what he’d done in the past. 

They all put their dishes in the sink and Brendon followed Ryan upstairs to grab his bag. He realized it was now or never to confront Ryan about what had happened the night before, but something just didn't feel right. If anything Brendon should’ve been thanking him, and talking about all that just felt like too much. He decided he’d wait to see if any time did feel right. 

“How do you feel about stopping in Sacramento?” Ryan asked, packing the few things he’d gotten out back into his duffel bag. Unlike Brendon’s trusty faded navy backpack, Ryan carried a bright red duffel bag, pretty much stuffed with clothes and whatever else he needed. 

“Sounds good.” Brendon had been to Sacramento once, while driving from Reno to San Francisco. He’d only passed through, but the city seemed nice enough. Like most of California it was dry and full of dead grass, but by now Brendon was used to that.

Ryan hoisted his bag up from the bed and over his shoulder. “You ready?” he asked.

Brendon nodded. Ryan eyed Brendon and his backpack, probably wondering if he’d noticed the new weight in his bag. He had, but it was almost comforting knowing that he had something again, and that he wouldn’t starve to death on some backroad.

They headed back downstairs, where their hosts stood waiting in the foyer. “Call us once you reach LA,” said Z, wrapping Ryan in a hug. 

Alex smiled at Brendon. “It was nice meeting you, man.”

“You too.” 

Ryan started out the door after giving Alex a quick hug and Brendon followed close in pursuit. Dottie trotted around by Ryan’s side, sniffing his legs and peeing on the bushes lining the front walk. 

Ryan’s car sat in the driveway just as it had the night before. In the light Brendon could see the house much more clearly, though the overgrown trees blocked much of it from view. The dark grey of the house stood out against the dark green of the bushes and evergreens, while the bright red door of the house set it apart from the houses to the left and right. 

While Brendon opened the back door to put his bag in the back, Ryan popped the trunk and put away his own things. Beside Brendon, Dottie leaped onto the seat, walking in circles on her red blanket before lying down. Brendon closed the door and went to shotgun. Ryan sat in the driver’s seat as usual. 

“You ready?” he asked, looking over at Brendon as he started the car. 

“Yeah. I’m excited to see LA, actually.”

 

“You’ve never been?”

Brendon shook his head, “Somehow, no. I’ve been all over the US but never LA.” 

“I think you’ll like it.”

Ryan backed the car off the driveway and started down the street. The neighborhood was filled with evergreens and fir trees, but the air was hotter than Brendon expected. Not as hot as other places he’d been, but hotter than he’d like. The car air conditioning wasn’t all the way on yet, and Brendon wasn’t sure if it would be able to totally cool down the car. It was better than sometimes, though, when Brendon had to ride without AC altogether. Still, a ride was a ride, especially when the driver let him stay the night and gave him free food. 

Soon the houses lining the streets turned into city, with tall skyscrapers and bustling crowds of people. Traffic slowed, but it only gave Brendon a better view of the city. 

“Check that out!” Ryan said, craning his neck to view a music shop window plastered with posters for a music festival. “I love this place. Full of music, but not burning up like LA is.” He glanced back at the road and kept driving, finally starting to move a little. “Yeah, I’ll have to come back up here for that.” 

“Z will be happy to hear that,” Brendon joked. 

“Yeah, she will. I give her a lot of shit for acting like my mom and all that, but she’s really great. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone more caring.” 

“I don’t think I have, either. It’s obvious that she cares about you a lot.” 

“She really does. And just saying, if you’re ever in Seattle and need a place to stay, just show up there. A friend of me is a friend of Z.”

Brendon smiled at the rhyme, and at the fact that Ryan had called him a friend, though he wasn’t sure that was true, “Wow, thanks. That’s a big help, actually.” 

“It’s no problem, really. You saw how big that house is. They almost always have some extra space. And Z likes you, thinks you’re a nice kid, Brendon.” 

“Does she?” 

“Yeah, she does. Thinks you could probably benefit from some time just chilling by the beach, thinks you’re too tense, but she likes you. She says you seem ‘sweet.’”

“That’s good,” Brendon mumbled. Everyone said that, back in Utah. That he needed to calm down, take a few breaths, let himself relax every now and then. He never understood it. He was calm, he was fine. Everyone else was just too worried, overreacting. 

Ryan didn't say anything else and kept his eyes on the road. Soon the city turned to forest, tall fir trees lining the road. Brendon stared out the window, feeling a bit bored of Rimbaud for the time being. You could only read a book so many times in a year, and Brendon found himself hitting the limit. Perhaps he’d borrow a book from Ryan, since he seemed so generous with his gifts. Maybe he’d give him more Rimbaud, or something else entirely. That would be nice, a change in writing style for once. 

The forest grew boring. It was the same trees, the same road, over and over and over again. He’d gotten a good night’s sleep, but the evergreens seemed to lull him into a sense of tiredness. He didn’t want to sleep, not here. Ryan seemed nice, but they were alone in the middle of the woods, and the voice in the back of Brendon’s head couldn’t help but suggest murder. 

Brendon checked his watch. They’d been driving for no more than two hours, and the fir trees continued on and on. There seemed to be no end in sight, and Brendon was starting to think he might go insane. 

“How much longer in this forest, do you think?” he asked, trying as hard as he could to not sound like a young boy, getting sick of driving thirty minutes into the road trip. 

“Ah, it’s been awhile since I’ve driven through here. But we should be in Portland in around an hour, if you want to stop for lunch.” 

“No, no, it’s fine, the forest is just starting to get monotonous, you know?” 

Ryan nodded, “This part’s the worst, at least until we reach California. It’s all dead grass and desert down there, some hills in the distance. And it’s hotter.” 

“So the forest is the lesser of two evils?”

“Yeah, but we can’t choose just one. Wait until California, then you’ll really see monotonous.”  
The car was quiet, and stayed quiet for another hour. The radio played softly, too soft for Brendon to pick out any of the songs. Ryan hummed his own tune from the driver’s seat, tapping a beat out on the steering wheel. 

“So you said you play guitar, are you a musician?” Brendon asked, still yearning to fill the silence. 

“Yeah. I’ve been in a couple bands, do a lot of music production type stuff. Had a couple songs on the radio, even.” 

Brendon raised an eyebrow, “On the radio?” Getting a song played anywhere was only a distant dream of his, unlikely to happen ever. 

“Yep. It took quite a bit of work and I didn’t do it alone, obviously, but I’m definitely proud.” 

“I would be too.” 

Brendon wondered if Ryan was famous. To Brendon he seemed rich, able to give random strangers money and food, and to take them around the country. Had he even learned his last name yet? There were quite a few famous Ryans out there, and the fact that he could potentially be driving in one of their cars was pretty spectacular. That would be a story to tell for sure, if anyone ever cared to listen. 

“So are you, like, famous?” Brendon asked tentatively. 

Ryan shrugged, “Depends. With the mainstream, probably not. In rock? Probably.” 

Brendon listened to rock. Not much from the past year, of course, as he didn’t exactly have a record player on hand and it wasn’t his place to ask his drivers to change the radio, but back in Utah he’d had the best record collection he’d ever seen. He’d had Bob Dylan, The Animals, Jefferson Airplane, and plenty of other artists. His Dad had hated the music, saying it was too loud and too obnoxious. Brendon had played it anyway. 

They passed a sign reading that the next turn was for Portland, and Ryan pulled off the highway and onto the exit, a whole city suddenly appearing before Brendon’s eyes. 

“I’m not sure of any good restaurants here, but I’m sure we’ll find something,” Ryan said. Within a few minutes they’d pulled up at a smaller cafe near downtown and got out of the car. The restaurant had outdoor seating, meaning they could bring Dottie out for some food and water as well. Brendon imagined she probably needed food at some point too. 

A waitress came out and both men ordered water and sandwiches, Ryan also asking for a bowl so Dottie could drink too. The woman leaned over and pet Dottie for a bit. Brendon couldn't help but hope that she wasn’t going to be touching their food, or that she would at least wash her hands. 

“Nice city, right?” Ryan asked, looking around the street through his fancy sunglasses. The area wasn’t incredibly busy, though you could see from the towering skyscrapers that downtown was nearby. A few pedestrians strolled by, and cars stopped at the traffic light on the corner. 

“Yeah. I like it.” 

Their drinks arrived and Brendon downed his in what seemed like a single gulp. 

“You’re gonna drink again, you know that, right?” Ryan scoffed. 

Brendon shrugged, “Yeah, but who knows when that’ll be.” Ryan gave him a look of pity, and Brendon realized he’d probably said too much. 

“I could totally help you out, you know. If you need anything in LA, find me. For God’s sake, you could stay in my house for all I care. I’m in need a roommate, actually.” 

Brendon shook his head, “I really don’t need--” 

“Hey. Even if it’s just for the first couple days, I could help you get acquainted with the city, take you to a few parties. You ever been to a party at Jim Morrison’s house?”

“Well, no-”

“See? All the more reason to stay with me. It’ll just be a couple days, if you’re really set on all this nomadic solo lifestyle bull, but if you wanna stay longer, go ahead. Dottie and I get lonely, you know.”

Brendon had a feeling the last bit was a lie, but nodded. “Alright. I’ll stay.” He wasn’t sure about the parties bit, as he’d never actually been to a real “party.” Sure, there’d been birthday get-togethers as a kid, but he hadn’t been the most popular kid in school, so parties had never been his place. 

Ryan grinned, “I knew you’d say yes!” He laughed and took another sip of his water. Brendon smiled, but was still unsure of what he’d actually gotten himself into. 

The waitress brought out the sandwiches and the men ate in silence, Brendon scarfing his down like a stray dog who’d just been thrown some scraps. 

“You’re gonna choke if you keep eating like that,” Ryan commented. 

“I’ll be fine,” Brendon said. Ryan pulled the meat out of his sandwich and held it underneath the table for Dottie, who sat obediently under the table. She was the most obedient dog Brendon had ever seen, not running away or even walking a few meters down the street. It could’ve been the food Ryan was giving her, but she’d even stayed put before they’d gotten their sandwiches. 

“She’s certainly well-trained,” Brendon said, pointing down at the hound. 

“Got her as a puppy and trained her myself, so yeah.” Ryan rubbed Dottie’s head and the waitress brought the check. 

“Thank you,” Ryan said, smiling at the woman and looking her right in the eye. He was a charmer, Brendon could tell that from just two days of knowing him. The woman blushed and took away their plates. Ryan left some cash on the table (a generous tip as well) and Brendon didn’t bother protesting this time. 

“Ready to go?” Ryan asked, starting to stand. 

“I’m gonna run to the restroom, just a sec,” Brendon said. 

Ryan nodded, “Alright, I’ll wait here.” He sat back down and Brendon hurried into the restaurant, where the waitress directed him to the bathroom. The inside of the restaurant was cold and confortable, and red booths lined three walls. A few people ate at the tables in the middle of the restaurant, but no one noticed Brendon as he walked towards the back. 

The restrooms were nice as well, a change from the public bathrooms he was forced to use while on the road. It hit him that he hadn’t eaten in a nice restaurant in months, due to lack of money and lack of time. The lack of a completely rancid smell was nice, and he was able to piss in peace without wondering if there was a dead body in the next stall. 

He went to wash his hands and splashed some water on his face, looking at himself in the mirror. It was hard to recognize himself these days. He needed a shave and a haircut and the last couple months had really taken a toll on his weight, slimming down his face and hollowing out his cheeks. Why Ryan would ever let someone looking like him stay in his home he wasn’t sure, but he was grateful for it. 

Ryan was waiting, so Brendon dried his hands and face and hurried back out, meeting Ryan at their table. 

“To Sacramento we go,” Ryan said, and stood up. They walked across the sidewalk to Ryan’s car. 

Ryan opened the back door to let Dottie in and then got into the driver’s seat, while Brendon sat in the passenger seat once more. The car started and Ryan turned up the radio, searching for a station before they got going. 

“This good?” Ryan asked, after turning to a particularly rock-sounding station. 

“Sure.” Ryan pulled out of their parking spot and drove down the street, leaving downtown and soon pulling back onto the tree-surrounded highway. 

“About nine hours left, if I’ve calculated correctly,” he said. 

Brendon sighed, “Nine whole hours?”

“A little more than that, maybe. Depends on traffic. I guess we could use the time to get to know each other.”

 

“Get to know each other?”

 

Ryan grinned and glanced at Brendon, “I mean, you are gonna be staying at my house, and I don’t even know your last name.” 

“Well I guess we can start there. I’m Brendon Urie, and I’m eighteen, as of yesterday.” 

“What?” Ryan asked, “You’re practically a kid!” 

Brendon blushed, “How old are you, then?” 

“Twenty,” Ryan admitted, “And my last name’s Ross.” 

“That’s only two years,” Brendon scoffed. 

“Hey, but my birthday’s in August. That means it’s really basically three.” 

Brendon rolled his eyes and tried to think of another question. There had been so much to ask before, but now he didn’t seem to have anything. 

“Why were you in New York?” he asked, remembering something, “Z said you were in New York City, right?” 

“I was recording an album. Also, enjoying the cold there before coming back to hellishly hot California. Why were you in Idaho?” 

“No reason, really. It’s just the closest I could get to LA. Plus that asshole mugged me and left me there.” 

“How much did he steal, everything?”

Brendon shrugged, “Yeah, pretty much.” Now that Ryan seemed to be okay with giving him everything he needed, the whole theft thing seemed less awful. It happened to everyone who hitchhiked regularly, it was a fact of life. 

“So that’s why you don’t have any money?”

“Yeah, although it’s not like I had much to begin with. I’m just lucky he left the books and my guitar.” 

“That really is lucky,” Ryan said. He was giving Brendon a funny look, leaving Brendon a little uncomfortable and wanting to change the subject. 

“So this album,” he started, “What’s it like? You excited for it?” 

Ryan smiled, “Oh man, don’t get me started. I’m beyond excited, this is gonna be the album of the summer, the year even. Everyone who’s heard it says so; in fact, you can listen to it once we get to my place.” Ryan had adopted a more animated look, one hand flying off the steering wheel to gesture wildly. His eyes lit up. It was like when Brendon brought up Rimbaud but even more energetic. If Brendon didn’t know any better he’d think he was on speed. 

“So it’s good?” Brendon asked, almost happy to see his driver like this. He didn’t want to call him his friend just yet. That felt too close, and Brendon hadn’t called someone his friend in ages. 

“Well, I don't want to brag or anything, but I mean, it’s good. Like I said, everyone who’s listened to it says so. It’s angry but it doesn't really sound angry, just the lyrics, you know? And it’s basically calling for a revolution, calling for someone to change something.”

“You seem passionate about it,” Brendon remarked, smiling. He really was happy to see him like this, as strange as it was. He didn’t know why, he’d just met the guy, but something tugged in his stomach to see him grinning like this. 

“Trust me, I am.” 

Suddenly the forest seemed much more interesting, the sun shining down, happy music playing. Ryan had put on his fancy sunglasses again, and there were smiles tattooed on both of their faces. Instead of a forest where Brendon might end up dead, the land now seemed like a place where Brendon might find a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but I hope the chapter is worth it! The next one will be out sooner, I promise! For now, enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Once again, Brendon woke to Ryan’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. The rest of the drive had been long but uneventful, and they’d stopped the car just outside of Sacramento. Brendon, still afraid Ryan might just drive off with his things, had slept inside the car with the windows cracked open. They’d stopped late, around eleven thirty, but Ryan had still sat outside the car with his guitar and played for as long as Brendon was still awake. He was really talented, and though he hadn’t done much singing Brendon knew he had a good voice. 

“You’re a really heavy sleeper, you know that?” Ryan asked, grinning and already donning his sunglasses. 

Brendon sat up, “What time is it?” He’d fallen asleep with the seat reclined, and proceeded to bring it back to its usual angle. 

“Nine-ish. We’ve got five hours left to drive.” Ryan settled himself in the driver’s seat and pulled onto the road. 

“You’re certainly cheery this morning,” Brendon commented. 

“I’m always cheery,” Ryan said, but Brendon couldn’t help but notice dark circles under his eyes. How late had he stayed up? 

Ryan drove on the dusty highway. Late the night before, they’d transitioned from the forest into a prairie of sorts, no tall trees and dead grass as far as the eye could see. Now they were coming up on the city, where they’d hopefully get some breakfast. If not, Brendon could survive. He’d gone without breakfast plenty of times before and he could do it again. 

Sure enough, they drove straight through the city. Brendon didn’t want to say anything about stopping, it would just be more money for Ryan to spend on him and he certainly didn’t want that. Past the heart of the city were suburbs, the kinds of things Brendon had living in back in Utah. After the suburbs, more prairie as far as the eye could see. 

“This looks like we’re in for an entertaining drive,” Brendon said, staring out the window. 

“I told you California would be hell,” Ryan said. 

“Why’re you coming here if it’s hell?” 

“Well, that only makes it better.” He grinned and hit the gas, speeding up the car and Brendon’s heart rate. 

“Please don’t kill me before I reach LA,” Brendon said, gripping the sides of his seat with white knuckles. 

Ryan laughed, “C’mon man, this is the way we live in LA! We live fast!” 

“Live fast and die young,” Brendon muttered. 

“Isn’t that the point?” He didn’t slow down, and if anything sped up. Brendon clenched his jaw and gripped the seat tighter. 

“It might be your point, but I prefer to not die at eighteen. I still have to--well, I don't know what I have to do, but I don't want to die now.” 

Ryan rolled his eyes, but slowed down, “You really gotta lighten up, Urie. You’re eighteen, live a little!” 

“I’m not gonna live a little if I die here!”

“You’re right there,” Ryan said, chuckling, “But hey, you really should lighten up. Have some fun!” 

Brendon loosened his grip on the seat, “Fine, fine. I’ll live once we get to LA. But until then, keep at the speed limit.” 

Ryan smiled at him and then looked back out at the road. “Alright, Brendon. I’ll follow the law.” 

They were driving through farmland now, though almost everything was the same brittle yellow brown color of death. From somewhere in the distance smoke billowed up, probably some farmer burning garbage or a small bush fire. The sky was pale blue, hardly a cloud to be seen (save for the smoke). 

“How long were you in New York?” Brendon asked, once again yearning to fill the silence. 

Ryan shrugged, “A month or so? I would’ve spent less, but half the time was spent at parties.” 

“So you do that a lot? Go to parties?” 

“You could say that. Host them, too, but mainly attend. I guess you don’t go to many?”

 

Brendon looked at his feet, “To be honest, I’ve never been to a real party.” 

Ryan’s eyes grew wide, “What? No way. How’d you manage to do that?” 

 

“We didn’t have many parties in suburban Utah, and I wasn’t the most popular kid in the world due to my inability to really talk to the other kids, so I just never got invited.”

“You seem like you’re able to talk to me now,” Ryan said.

“Well, reputations from the fourth grade tend to stick. And I don’t think I’ve missed out on that much.” 

“Trust me, you have. I guess you’ll learn that in LA.” 

“I guess I will,” Brendon said. He was a little interested in this life Ryan seemed to lead, traveling across the US from party to party, recording an album and maybe becoming famous. It seemed intriguing, like something from a book or a movie. Unreal. 

More silence. The farmland whizzed by, only occasionally punctuated by groups of trees and run-down farmhouses. They passed a tractor rumbling down the highway, sending up dust behind it. 

“What’d you say?” Ryan asked, jumping in his seat. 

Brendon frowned, “Nothing. You need me to drive?” Ryan hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and it could’ve been affecting his health. 

Ryan shook his head, “It was probably just the car or something, I’m fine.” 

“Alright,” Brendon said, eyeing Ryan nervously. Maybe he had just heard the car and thought Brendon had mumbled something. Dottie was snoring too, he might’ve heard that. Still, in the back of his mind Brendon worried. If Ryan was hearing things that weren’t there, he really shouldn’t be driving. 

“What do people usually do on road trips?” Brendon asked, wanting to distract himself from that worry. 

“I think we’re doing it now,” Ryan said, “Driving and talking.” 

“Yeah, but what else? I guess people tell stories. I don’t know, that’s what my family used to do.”

“Your family used to go on road trips?” 

Brendon shrugged, “Occasionally. Mostly when I was a lot younger, my mom would take me to Las Vegas and all the State Parks.” 

“I’m from Vegas, man!”

“We never did much there, it wasn’t like I could visit the casinos or anything.” 

“There’s plenty to do other than the casinos. I would know. We had the craziest parties back in high school, everyone had a pool, you know. And all of our parents worked in the casinos, so tons of people were just alone all night. It was great.” 

“It sounds great.” 

“Yeah. Every once in awhile we’d go out and camp in the desert. Once you get out far enough, the stars are really insane. Although sometimes it got a little crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

Ryan shook his head, “Out in the desert everything looks the same, and it’s only worse when you’re drunk. So we’re all out there, miles from civilization, and we just get totally lost. No one remembers the way home, nothing. Luckily we were finally able to figure it out, followed our tire tracks or something, but man, that was scary.”

“Did you have Dottie back then?” Brendon asked. 

“Nah. I didn’t get her until the next year, ‘67, after I’d moved to LA. My friend Spencer and I moved there together, he found her wandering around the city. She was just a puppy then, who knows where she came from. He figured I could probably take better care of her than him.”

“From what I’ve seen, it looks like you can.” 

Ryan shrugged, “Ah man, I’m not that great. Dottie just likes me a lot, I guess.” 

“You had to do something to get her to like you though, right?” 

“True. You ever have dogs growing up?” Ryan asked. 

“My dad always had hunting dogs, but those weren’t like Dottie. They’d bite you if you gave them the chance, and if you went around the cages they’d bark like they were gonna kill you. So not really.” 

“That’s sad.” 

Brendon realized the conversation was taking a dark turn and changed his tone, “It was alright. At least I knew we had guard dogs.”

Ryan laughed, “That’s true.” 

The drive continued and they told more stories, stories from Ryan’s childhood Brendon couldn’t even imagine doing himself, like how he and a friend had once, playing with fireworks and gas, almost blown up a transformer on a power line, or how when he was ten he’d run away for two days, hiding in the desert behind their house eating sandwiches he’d packed. Outside of the car, the landscape became more desolate, the grass dying off and turning to dust. After another hour the dust raised into hills, and the car wove through paths that were almost hanging off the side of cliffs. 

“Does this mean we’re close?” Brendon asked, looking out the window at the desolate landscape. Few cars passed them, and the raised landscape made for few buildings. 

“We’re an hour and a half out, maybe two hours. Won’t be too long.” 

“That’s good.” 

They kept driving. More cars started appearing, and once again the ground flattened out. Houses started to appear, suburbs and family homes. It had been nearly five hours by then, and Brendon was starting to get antsy. He was hungry, most of all, but didn’t want to break open the food Ryan had given him. 

Finally, the LA skyline appeared on the horizon. Brendon sighed with relief, and Ryan turned off the highway and onto a series of smaller streets full of nice, mid-sized houses. 

After weaving through more small streets, they turned onto the driveway of a modern house with an unruly front yard. 

"Sorry about the grass and all," Ryan said, "I don't have anyone to mow the lawn while I'm gone." 

There was another car in the driveway, which Brendon took as being a house-sitter. Ryan might have money, but he definitely didn't seem like the two-car type. 

"Who else is here?" Brendon asked, gesturing towards the car. 

"That'll be Spencer," Ryan said, "He's been keeping the house while I've been gone. Probably just eating all the food and running up the TV bill." 

Brendon laughed and grabbed his things, a little nervous to see the inside of the house. It had big windows covered by curtains, and appeared to be just one story. A dark stained fence blocked off what Brendon presumed was the backyard, and there wasn't a garage. 

Ryan headed down the walk, and like he'd done so often the last couple days, Brendon followed. The front door was a glass door, but it had a curtain over it. Ryan rang the doorbell and knocked, smiling at Brendon. 

"Spencer's probably asleep or high, so it might take a bit for him to get here." 

Brendon laughed, but hoped they could get inside soon. There was something about standing in front of this fancy, clean-cut house, nicer than anywhere he'd ever really stayed, thinking about it, that made him nervous. All the houses back in Utah had been nice at one point, but it seemed that no one in his neighborhood really cared about the upkeep of their homes. Most had broken windows and sagging roofs, dirty siding. It had always made him sad to see the once new houses in such disarray. 

Finally, the curtain at the door was pulled to the side, revealing Spencer. He had shaggy brown hair and a bit of stubble, but was cleaner than Brendon expected. He probably looked better than Brendon did. 

Spencer's eyes caught on Brendon and changed to a quizzical expressions. He opened the door. 

"Ryan!" he said, ignoring Brendon to greet his friend. "You're not allowed to leave LA for this long ever again. I don't care about what bullshit album you made, I missed you man!" 

Ryan laughed, "Ah man, you know I have to take a break from all this LA bullshit," he said. 

Brendon began to wonder if taking random men home was a hobby of Ryan's. Spencer didn't seem too confused about the situation, like it was normal. 

"And who is this?" Spencer asked, finally turning his attention to Brendon. 

"This is Brendon. New friend of mine," Ryan explained. 

"From New York?" Spencer asked. 

Ryan shook his head, "We met in Idaho, we'll tell you about it later. You heading out?" 

Spencer shrugged, "I guess you probably want the house to yourselves for a bit?" he asked. 

Brendon wasn't sure what that meant, but Ryan replied anyways, "I'm sure you're ready to head home." 

"Sure man, just let me grab my shit." Spencer backed into the house and Brendon and Ryan followed, Brendon taking in the scenery. It wasn’t the nicest place, and none of the lights were on, but it was obviously pretty big. The furniture was all pretty modern, made of leather and dark wood. The back wall was almost all windows showing a view of the hills behind the house, with more houses precariously perched in the distance. A kitchen sat in one corner, with an island and a bar. Brendon was in awe. 

A few more doors led to what had to be the bedrooms and whatever else was in the house. Spencer grabbed a bag from the living room. 

"I'll be off, then. See you at the party tomorrow?" he asked.

"Of course," Ryan replied. Spencer left out the front door and closed it behind him.

"He seems nice," Brendon commented, once the man's car had left the driveway. 

Ryan nodded, "He is. Best guy I've ever met."

Dottie had snuck into the house behind them and was now walking around the house, sniffing chairs and anything else she found. 

"I'll show you the guest room," Ryan said, "There's a bathroom attached and everything, and if you need anything just ask." 

"Thanks," Brendon said. Once again, Ryan's generosity was just too much. Ryan led him through one doorway down a hallway and through a closed door, into a bedroom. A window on one wall showed the same downhill view, and the walls were a nice light grey. Brendon couldn't imagine how nice it would be to sleep on the queen bed after so long on the ground or in cramped twin or bunk beds. 

"I'll leave you be," Ryan said. 

"Could I get a razor?" Brendon asked, as Ryan started out. 

"Of course," Ryan said. Brendon looked into his backpack, realizing he didn't have a change of clothes. That would be an issue, but he figured he might just wash them in the shower, or ask if Ryan had a washing machine. Of course, he'd be naked for however long it took them to dry, but he'd cross that bridge when he got there. 

Ryan returned to the room with a razor, a towel, soap, and what looked like a change of clothes. Brendon almost laughed. 

"I figured you'd need some clothes, since everything else got stolen," Ryan said, holding everything out to Brendon. 

"Thanks, yeah, I was just thinking about that." He took the bundle and set it on the bed.

"The clothes might be a bit big on you, I think I'm a bit taller than you. But it'll work, right?"

Brendon nodded, "Of course, yeah. Thank you so much."

"No problem." Ryan left the room once more and closed the door behind him. Brendon walked into the bathroom connected to the bedroom, surveying the room. It had a shower with clear glass doors and plenty of mirrors, so many that he almost felt uncomfortable seeing himself from so many angles. 

He turned on the shower, and took off his shirt and pants. He'd have to ask Ryan if he had a washing machine after he got out, although knowing him he might just give him more clothes. 

The shirt and pants he'd given him were pretty nice, a grey striped button-down t-shirt and some dark jeans. It had been forever since Brendon had worn a button down and jeans that were ripped. 

After the shower got hot enough he stepped in, bringing the soap with him. Ryan hadn't provided any shampoo, but like Brendon's dad had always said, "Beggars can't be choosers." He could wash his hair with the soap anyways. 

It felt nice to finally wash himself with clean water that was in the comfort of a home, rather than some rest stop or smoke-filled motel. Ryan's house smelled like smoke, but it wasn't as pungent as in motels. In motels it was like he was in someone else's space, unwelcome. Here, Brendon almost felt like he was at home, but someone else had moved in and he wasn't sure he should be there anymore. 

He got out and took out the razor, shaving off the stubble he had accumulated over the last week. Finally, he felt like himself, though he was a skinnier, more weathered version of himself. His hair was still too long and his cheeks too hollow, but at least now he could see himself past his facial hair. 

He pulled on the pants and shirt Ryan had given and buttoned up the top to the second-to-last button. The collar felt a little stuffy, but that might've just been from wearing nothing but t-shirts for months. He'd originally brought a button-down shirt with him, but after a while it had gotten too hot and he'd traded it in for something more casual and lightweight. Winter was never a problem from him, being a bit like a bird. When it got too hot he could migrate down to the south and stay there for a while, staying warm while Utah and the rest of the north froze.

After towel-drying his hair Brendon walked out of the bedroom and back out the hall into the living room, where Ryan sat smoking weed. 

"Hey!" Ryan said, "You look really good! Like a whole new person!" 

Brendon smiled, "Yeah, it feels nice to be clean for once." 

“I can only imagine,” Ryan said, “Care for a joint?” 

"Sure," Brendon said. It had been forever since he'd smoked anything, since he hadn't really had the money to do anything fun since he left. Back in Utah he'd smoke with a few kids from school, not really friends but people who shared interests with him. 

He sat down and they smoked on the couch together while Dottie barked in the backyard. "I read somewhere that this shit can really hurt dogs," Ryan said, "So I have to make sure to put her out before smoking, you know? It's something about their bodies being smaller, and they have different immunities. But either way, it messes with them somehow." 

The view really was amazing, and now as the sun was starting to get low in the sky Brendon could really appreciate it. He could only imagine what it looked like during sunset in a few hours. 

"So Spencer mentioned a party, what's that about?" Brendon asked. 

Ryan shrugged, "Some friends figured we should throw a party now that I’m back. You're coming, by the way. I'm sure all of my friends will like you." 

"Who all will be there?" Brendon asked, feeling just a twinge of anxiety in his chest. 

"No one too famous, if that's what you're wondering. Mostly friends of mine, Spencer, all great people. You'll like them." 

Most people would've felt some sort of relief, but Brendon was only more nervous. Now he'd have to impress these people, make an impression that he wasn't just some hitchhiker. Ryan assured Brendon that he’d like his friends, but what if they didn’t like him? It was like highschool all over again. 

“I’m gonna cook some dinner, care for a grilled cheese?” Ryan asked. 

Brendon was still hungry as ever. “Yeah, thanks.” 

Ryan stood and headed to the kitchen, starting up the stove and pulling out some bread and a pan. 

"Thanks for all of this, by the way," Brendon said, watching as Ryan pulled butter out of the fridge. 

"For what?" Ryan asked.

"Just, letting me stay here. Cooking me dinner, taking me to a party. All of it." 

"It's no problem, I'd be cooking and going to the party anyways, now I just have someone to do it with." 

"I guess you're right." Brendon still felt weird about getting all this from Ryan. How much had he taken already> How much of Z's food had he taken? 

Ryan kept cooking while Brendon lay on the couch, smoking and watching him cook. Dottie scratched at the door, but Ryan waved her away.

"She's fine out there. Let her in when you're done." The grilled cheese started to smell and Brendon's mouth watered like Pavlov's dog, he was so hungry. He was like some young teenaged boy, the way he was always so hungry. It was like he was still growing, even though at eighteen he'd probably reached his maximum height. 

The stove turned off and Ryan came back to the living room with two plates. "Sorry I don't really have a table to eat on, need to take care of that at some point." 

Brendon shrugged, mouth already full. "It doesn't really matter," he said, holding a hand over his mouth. By now he was done with the joint, and Ryan opened the back door to let Dottie in. She hovered around at their feet while Ryan fed her bits of his sandwich. 

Brendon also noticed a piano, shoved into a nook towards the back of the room. It was almost hidden, you couldn't see it from the front door. 

"You play piano?" he asked, looking at the instrument. It was no grand piano, but nicer than what he’d had back in Utah. 

“I’m learning. Do you play?” Ryan asked. 

“I used to play a lot, I doubt I’m as good now.” 

“Took lessons as a kid?” 

Brendon nodded, “Yeah. From this woman downtown, which really wasn’t downtown. But she had a little piano store and she gave lessons to all the kids in town. I was pretty good, I understood theory pretty well. I got bored, eventually.”

“Guitar is my thing,” Ryan said, “Piano is a lot more straightforward, I think. Everything is in a straight line, guitar is all up and down when it comes to playing all the ‘do-re-mi’ stuff.”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever even touched a guitar.” 

“Really? Well now I have to show you my collection. I’ve got the Rimbaud collection in there, too.” Ryan started towards the hallway, and Brendon followed. 

“You have a thing for a collections?” Brendon asked. 

Ryan laughed, “Just collections of gay poets and guitars.” 

The word “gay” struck Brendon like a stone to the head. He hadn’t known Rimbaud was gay, although that would explain why he liked the poet so much. The thing that shocked him most, however, was how okay Ryan was with his gayness. 

“I didn’t know he was gay,” Brendon stammered, suddenly ridden with an inexplicable panic. 

“Yeah, he was gay. Are you against that?”

Brendon blushed, “No, no I’m not.” He was safe. Ryan wasn’t homophobic, and Brendon was safe. The panic left his body. He was safe.


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the day passed quickly, and Brendon wasn’t sure he’d ever slept in a bed as comfortable as Ryan’s. He’d fallen asleep reading an anthology of poems, while Ryan watched TV in the living room. 

When he’d woken up, Ryan was still asleep, or at least still in his room. The clock next to his bed read 9:30, and the sun shone through the window next to the bed. It was a sunny day, and the hills outside seemed to glow in the sunlight. Maybe that was just the dead grass reflecting light. 

While waiting for Ryan to wake up, Brendon decided he’d make breakfast. Although he hadn’t actually operated an actual stove in over a year, he felt confident that he could at least make some eggs. However, once he was able to find a pan and crack some eggs open, he found he might not be so adept. For one thing, he didn’t even know the temperature at which the eggs should be cooked, so he just cranked the stove up to a medium level and cracked the egg into the pan, hoping that was how it was supposed to work. 

That was not how cooking eggs worked, and by the time Ryan stumbled into the kitchen at ten he had burned at least three eggs to crisps. He hadn’t meant to, he just didn’t really know when eggs were supposed to be done, and he kept hearing noises and thinking Ryan was coming.

“You trying to cook?” Ryan asked, looking at the failed stack of eggs sitting on a plate on the counter. In the early morning without his sunglasses on, Brendon could see Ryan had some pretty crazy dark circles under his eyes, although he didn’t seem all that tired. 

“Yeah, key word trying,” Brendon replied. Ryan stepped closer to him and grabbed the pan. 

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you to make eggs?” 

“Yeah, but it’s been a while. Not many opportunities to cook on the road, you know.” 

“Oh, yeah. Not many stoves in cars.” 

“Good point.”

Ryan shoveled a sunny side up egg onto a plate and handed it to Brendon, cracking another onto the pan. “I’ll be in the living room in a minute, you can start eating.”

“Alright,” Brendon said, ducking out of the kitchen and into the living room. It seemed that Ryan didn't have any sort of dining room or table, and only ate sitting on the couch. While Ryan cooked his own egg, Brendon watched the hills below them through the large back windows. The clouds floated along slowly, and the tall grass in the backyard floated in the breeze. It was a perfect idyllic scene, almost like it was from a painting. 

Ryan sat down next to Brendon, following his gaze out the window. “Nice view, right? The reason I bought the house.”

“You can see everything,” Brendon said. 

“Yeah. Practically the whole city. Excluding downtown, but we aren’t missing out on much there, are we?” 

“I guess not. It’s a good view without it, either way.” 

“Yeah. You ready for the party later?” Ryan took a sip of coffee and set down his mug, making a clinking noise against the end table. 

Brendon shrugged. “I guess so. You are forcing me to go.” 

“For your own good. It’s like going to the doctor, you know? You hate it, but you have to go.”

“I haven’t been to the doctor since I was five years old,” Brendon said, grinning at Ryan like he’d won something. In a way, he had, sort of proving him wrong. Ryan felt like he’d been proved wrong, just a little bit. 

“So it’s not necessary. But it’s still good for you, just like this party will be. So you should come. Voluntarily.” 

Brendon sighed, “When is it?” 

“The evening. I think it starts at seven or eight, but Gabe wants me to come early. Says he misses me or something.”

“Gabe…?”

“Guy hosting. Good friend of mine. You’ll meet him once we get there. In the meantime, you gonna wear that to the party?”

“Yeah? Why?” Brendon looked nervously at his outfit, Ryan’s jeans and shirt. They were wrinkled now from sleeping in them, but he thought they were alright. They didn’t smell, and that was all that really mattered. 

Ryan raised an eyebrow, “I mean if you plan on getting any girls while here in LA you might want to step it up just a bit… No offense or anything.” 

Brendon wanted to tell Ryan that he wasn’t actually interested in ‘getting any girls,’ but decided that would probably be a bit too much for now. Instead, he just looked at his feet. “Yeah, I guess that would be a good idea. But I don’t want to take more clothes, I’ve already taken so much.” 

“It’s fine,” Ryan said, “Come with me. I’ll show you my closet, I’m sure something will fit you.” Ryan stood, picking up his cup of coffee and leading Brendon down the hall and into his bedroom. It almost felt wrong to Brendon, going into someone’s bedroom. He hadn’t been in someone’s bedroom in ages, most certainly not to go look at another man’s clothes. 

The bedroom was pretty spartan, although something told Brendon Ryan didn’t sleep in it much. Like in the guest room there was a connected bathroom, but another door led to what Brendon presumed was the closet. When Ryan opened the door, he was proved right. The closet was walk-in and filled to the brim with all sorts of clothes. Button-down shirts, black dress pants, quite a few scarves all hanging from one section of the closet. 

“See anything you like?” Ryan asked, holding out a particularly ridiculous pair of paisley pants. 

“Not those, that’s for sure.” 

Ryan laughed and pulled out some slightly less ridiculous black pants. “I need to get rid of those. What about these?” he asked. 

“Those are good. I like those. And what about shirts? I can’t go shirtless.”

“That would be a cool statement. But I guess you’re not into that, so you can wear this.”

He pulled out another button-down shirt, this time light blue. “You should roll up the sleeves on this, it’ll look nice. Show off your tan.” 

Brendon blushed, “I’m not tan,” he said, grabbing the hanger and shirt. 

“You’re so tan. Like a surfer. I’m jealous. Look at me, I’m so pale after spending all my time in New York.” 

“I’m pretty sure there’s sunlight in New York, too,” Brendon said. 

Ryan rolled his eyes, “You’ve got me there, Bren.”

“Bren?” Brendon raised an eyebrow.

“What? I can’t call you a nickname?” 

“I mean-- I guess you can, but why?”

"I just like it, that's all," Ryan said, shrugging and walking out of the closet. Brendon figured he'd just wear his regular shoes, though they were worn and dusty. 

Brendon followed once more. 

"I'll let you be," he said, and started back towards the guest room, "Just tell me when it's time to go."

Ryan nodded. "Alright. See you in a little bit. He sat back on the couch and grabbed a book of the coffee table, resting his legs up on the table. 

Brendon went and sat on his bed, lying down and grabbing his own book. It was nice that Ryan also enjoyed reading since so few people seemed to these days. Particularly that he was a fan of poetry, so many men seemed to think it was too "feminine." 

With the help of a book time passed quickly, and before Brendon knew it Ryan was knocking on his door.

"You ready?" he asked, as Brendon opened the door just a crack. At some point he'd taken off his shirt, ready to change into the button-down, but he'd gotten distracted by something else. 

"Oh. Yeah. Just a sec." Ryan glanced down at his chest before Brendon turned around, searching for the blue shirt. It was somewhere, he just couldn't really remember where. 

Finally, he found it, lying behind a misplaced pillow on the bed. 

"I'll give you some privacy," Ryan said and left the door, though he didn't close it. 

Brendon started buttoning the shirt and after getting halfway through the shirt he left the room, working on the rest as he headed towards the living room. 

"Ready," he said, buttoning the last button. 

"Cool." Ryan headed towards the door and pulled on a brown leather jacket, turning back towards Brendon. He was hesitant, still not sure if he really wanted to go to the party. It made him nervous, the idea of all those people in one place. He hadn’t seen more than five people in one place since he’d left home, and even before then large groups had made him nervous. It was too unpredictable for him, too many variables. 

Ryan opened the door and walked down the sidewalk towards his car.

“Is Dottie not coming?” Brendon asked. 

“Nah, why?” Ryan asked. 

“It’s just the first time I’ve seen you without her. It’s weird.” 

“Maybe I should leave her behind more often, before long we’ll become the same person.” The two men sat in the car and drove out of the driveway and down the street, passing neat houses with neat yards. Ryan’s was the only one with overgrown grass and walls in need of power washing, but it seemed no one minded. 

Ryan switched on the radio. Public radio was on, an interview with some politician. Ryan left it on, only really wanting background noise for the time being.

“Can you drive?” Ryan asked, turning out of the neighborhood and onto a busier road. 

Brendon shook his head, “Not really. I think my dad tried to teach me at one point, but I was never very interested. It made me nervous.” 

“You should really learn. It’s a good thing to know.” 

“I mean, why should I when other people can drive me around? I am a hitchhiker, remember?” Brendon smirked. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be able to drive. What if you get stranded somewhere?”

“Stranded with a car?” 

“You never know. We’re here, we can fight about this later.” 

Ryan pulled to a stop in front of a brick house with a green lawn. How the owner had managed that in the arid LA climate, Brendon wasn’t sure. Other than the green lawn, the abundance of wind chimes hanging from the front porch made the house stand out, so many wind chimes Brendon could actually hear them over the sound of the car running, the air conditioner and the radio. It wasn’t even windy. There was just one car in the driveway, who Brendon assumed was Gabe. 

“Whats with all the wind chimes?” Brendon asked as they approached the front door. 

Ryan shrugged, “It’s a spiritual thing. Also, I think he just makes windchimes. As a hobby.” 

“That’s… an interesting hobby,” Brendon said. 

“Yeah, don't let him hear you say that.” 

Suddenly, the door opened and revealed one of the tallest men Brendon had ever seen, towering over both him and Ryan. If he hadn’t been grinning from ear to ear, Brendon would’ve been terrified. For fuck's sake, even now he was just a little scared. 

“Ryan!” the tall man, presumably Gabe, cheered. He wrapped Ryan in a hug, and once again one of Ryan’s friends had ignored Brendon. Not that he really cared. 

“This is Brendon,” Ryan said, “He’s staying with me for a bit. He likes the wind chimes.” Brendon wondered how long “a bit” was. 

“Hey, Brendon. I’m Gabe, glad you like ‘em.” Gabe backed up through the doorway, gesturing for the two men to come inside. The inside of the house was a bit dark, and the smell of food reached Brendon’s nose the second he stepped inside. 

"I'm still setting up, but feel free to take some of the queso. Spencer should be getting here soon," Gabe said. He disappeared into the kitchen, humming a song under his breath. 

To the right of the entrance was a sort of living room, with some chairs and a couch with a coffee table in the middle. On the coffee table sat a bowl of chips and some salsa with queso, which Brendon was 100% ready for.

"I'm gonna get some chips," Brendon said, stepping towards the living room. On the other side of the room was a dining area, with a big table and a chandelier. Covered in magazines and books, it looked like Gabe wasn't having too many formal dining parties. 

"I'll be in the kitchen," Ryan said, and disappeared in the direction Gabe had gone. 

Brendon sat on one of the two couches and grabbed a chip, dipping it in the melted cheese. Muffled speech came from the kitchen, but Brendon couldn’t quite pick up what was being said. Eavesdropping was wrong, anyways. Instead of trying to listen, he just ate his chips in silence. It was a little awkward, being alone in the house of a stranger. He hoped Ryan might come back and talk to him. 

It was a bit strange, thinking about it. He’d only known Ryan for just a few days and he was already depending on him, wishing he was there. Maybe it was the total deprivation of companionship he’d suffered over the last year leading him to become hyper-attached. Yeah, that was it. It wasn’t like he really needed Ryan, right? 

“Hey, Brendon, come in here and try the chicken!” Ryan called. 

“Eat the cock!” echoed Gabe, chuckling along with Ryan. 

Brendon shot up from his seat and into the kitchen, glad to be a part of the action. Also, there would be food which he didn’t feel guilty eating. A light was on in the kitchen, showing off the piles of food on the counter. There was another bowl of chips, salad, mac n cheese, and just coming out of the oven was a whole chicken. 

“Try some of this, it’s gonna be great,” Ryan said. 

Gabe sliced off a few pieces of the still-sizzling chicken and placed them on a plate, pushing it out towards Ryan and Brendon. They each took a piece, and though it burned his fingers Brendon blew on the piece and took a bite. 

"It's delicious," he said, with a full mouth. It tasted like Christmas and Thanksgiving dinner, like the meals back when his mom still cooked. Gabe smiled. 

"We told you it’d be good!” he said, “I’m the best cook I know.”

“You’re the best cook I know,” Ryan said, “You wouldn’t believe it, Gabe, but Brendon managed to burn about seven eggs this morning.” 

Brendon blushed. Gabe glanced at him. “I think I believe it. You seem like a shitty cook.”

 

“Don’t be an asshole, Gabe!” Ryan cuffed the tall man in the arm, rolling his eyes, “Brendon is your guest!” 

“So what, I let him use me as a carpet on wet ground?”

“Well for starters, you should offer him a beer. You’d think you’d know this after having so many parties.” If Brendon didn’t know better, he’d think the two men were flirting. However, he did know better, and he knew that Ryan was almost definitely straight and that Gabe was even more straight. Not that he really knew Gabe, but he just gave off those vibes. Brendon never got gay vibes from tall guys, although that might just have been because he wasn’t attracted to tall guys. Anyone over six feet was a no-go. 

“Okay. Brendon, would you like a beer?” Gabe asked, already opening the refrigerator. 

“That would be nice,” Brendon said, made more than a little uncomfortable by the situation. Ryan was sticking up for him a little too much, he didn’t want Gabe to feel bad. Not that he would, but he was afraid of seeming like Ryan’s pet or something. 

Gabe tossed a beer at Brendon, which he hardly managed to catch before opening it and taking a swig. Ryan and Gabe also got drinks, Ryan chugging his while Brendon took polite sips. Gabe busied himself with the chicken, cutting more pieces off and coating it in a sort of sauce. 

The doorbell rang. “Can you get that, Ryan?” Gabe asked, his hands literally inside of the chicken. 

“Yeah, sure.” Ryan walked out the door into the living room, leaving Brendon alone in the kitchen with Gabe, who still had his hand up the chicken’s ass. He wasn’t exactly sure what he should do, follow Ryan to the door or stand uncomfortably in the kitchen, trying to make small talk. From the direction of the door, he could hear loud chatter between Ryan and someone else, maybe Spencer. 

“Come into the kitchen, Spen,” Ryan said, his voice coming closer, “We have beer!” Ryan appeared in the doorway followed by Spencer, and suddenly the kitchen was a lot more cramped. Spencer looked pretty much the same as he had the day before, although today he was wearing a headband and seemed a little less high. In each hand, he held a plastic shopping bag. 

“Hey, Gabe. Hey Brendon,” Spencer said, plunking the bags down on the counter, “I brought whiskey. And coke.” Out of the bag Spencer pulled an extra-large bottle of Jack Daniels and two packs of soda. 

Gabe pulled his hand out of the chicken’s rectum, “So when are you gonna play us your newest hit album, Mr. Musician Ross?” he asked, shaking chicken juice off his hands. 

Ryan laughed, “You’ll see soon enough, we have to wait for everyone to get here first, honey.” He said it with an air of obnoxiousness, obviously as a joke, but something about it made Brendon bristle. He wasn’t sure what. 

“Call me honey again, honey, and I’ll slap you with my chicken-hand.” 

“Minus the chicken, I think I might like that,” Ryan replied, leaning up against the countertop next to Gabe. Brendon wanted to throw up. Spencer rolled his eyes.

“If you two don't shut up I’m gonna leave. I did not miss your shitty “platonic” flirting, Ryan,” Spencer said. 

“Well, I didn’t miss getting shamed while I was gone,” Ryan fired back. The doorbell rang. Ryan started out of the kitchen once more, but Gabe waved his hands.

“I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” he said, flinging water off his hands. He’d finished the chicken, and was now washing the juice off his hands. 

More voices came from the door. After eating another small piece of the chicken, Brendon migrated back to the living room where he sat on the couch, eating chips and salsa alone. A few more people came in through the door, greeted by Gabe.

After about thirty minutes of Brendon sitting alone, the doorbell rang once more. This time Ryan came to the door, but stopped once he noticed Brendon.

“There you are! I thought you’d run away or something,” Ryan said. 

“I’ve just been in here,” Brendon replied, shrugging and grabbing another chip. 

There was a knock from the door. “Just a sec, I gotta get that.” Ryan opened the door and greeted another man, “Hey Jon! Great to see you, man.” He gave the man a quick hug and led him inside, gesturing towards Brendon.

“This is my friend Brendon. He’s staying with me for a bit, Brendon, this is Jon.” Brendon waved from his spot on the couch. Jon smiled. 

“Did you bring anything?” Ryan asked Jon, looking down at his empty hands. 

Jon frowned, “We were supposed to bring something? Oh God, man, I’m sorry.” 

Ryan shook his head, “No, it’s ok. We have plenty. You can come and say hi to everyone in the kitchen if you want, I’ll be in there as well.” 

“I’ll stay in here, this salsa looks delicious. I’ll be in there in a bit, though.” Jon sat on the couch next to Brendon, grabbing a chip and dipping it in the salsa. “So how long have you been with Ryan?” he asked. 

“Just since yesterday,” Brendon said, a little uncomfortable after being forced out of his lonely cocoon, “Although we drove from Idaho together.” 

Jon shook his head, “I’m not even gonna ask why he was in Idaho. I guess you guys stopped off in Seattle to see Z?” 

“Yeah. She seemed nice. How do you know her?” 

“We were friends back when I was in Seattle for a bit. Ryan was there too. That was a good time.” 

A bit of yelling came from the kitchen, not angry yelling but people having a good time. Out of the door came Gabe, holding the chicken on a platter, followed by the rest of the guests. Mostly men, but a few girls as well. Brendon hadn’t been introduced to most of them. 

“I guess it’s time to eat,” Brendon said, standing from his spot on the couch. Gabe lowered the chicken onto the large dining table on the other side of the room while everyone else put down their own contributions, whether it was something they’d brought from home or just carried from the kitchen. After putting down the food, everyone took a seat. Ryan patted the chair next to him, making eye contact with Brendon. Brendon pulled out the chair and sat, while Spencer, at one head of the table, raised his glass. 

“I’d like to make a toast,” Spencer called out, raising his glass of wine. Everyone at the table went quiet, watching Spencer expectantly. “I’d like to make a toast to Ryan. My talented, hardworking, intelligent, sexy, lovely, friend Ryan, who for the last two months has toiled away in New York, spending his days and nights writing a perfect album, as well as fucking everyone in sight--”

Ryan snorted next to Brendon, “You know nothing about that.”

“I assumed. Anyways, he’s spent the last two months working hard in the streets of the Big Apple, and now he’s here to show us that it’s all paid off. Love you man, can’t wait to see how great this thing is. To Ryan.”

The others around the table echoed, raising their glasses, “To Ryan.” 

Most people began eating once the glasses were brought to the table, but Gabe kept his mouth empty. “So when are we hearing this album, Ry?” 

“Soon. Have patience. After dinner, we can smoke something and Spencer can get drunk on whiskey and then we’ll listen to the album. But for now we’re all gonna enjoy the nice cock you’ve prepared for us and drink the wine Spencer kindly brought.”

Gabe laughed at the cock comment and spooned some salad onto his plate, now engrossed in the food like everyone else. Brendon had managed to fill himself up with chips, which he now regretted looking at the meal. Even though he was almost full, he still forked up a piece of chicken and some salad, just to be polite. His mom had always said that being polite was the most important thing. 

Not able to distract himself by eating, and Ryan talking to the man on the other side of him, Brendon grew fidgety. He wished he could fast-forward to the smoking Ryan had mentioned, relieve some of the tension he was starting to build. 

“You alright?” Ryan asked. Brendon had been absentmindedly glancing around the room for the last five minutes.

“Oh, yeah, why?” Brendon replied, trying to mask the fact that he was actually incredibly anxious. 

“You look like you’re dying. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Brendon nodded, “Yeah, of course. Just tense, you know?” 

Ryan laughed, “Well, hopefully the smooth sounds of my newest album will calm you down. Gabe, go get the record player.” Gabe stood, as excited to hear the album as everyone else, and carried in the record player from the living room. Ryan reached next to his chair and pulled out a bag, and out of that a record sleeve. There was no real album art, just a cardboard sleeve with “Ryan Ross- May 1969.” 

The table quieted down. “So here it is,” Ryan said, “What you’ve all been waiting for.” He slipped the record onto the record player, “My new album.” 

The first song began to play. It was an upbeat rock song, full of guitar and drums. Brendon couldn't help but tap his foot to the beat underneath the table. Everyone listened intently, no longer eating whatever they had left of the meal. Ryan looked from person to person, almost feigning confidence. He wasn’t as nervous as Brendon always felt, but he was obviously nervous to see how the guests would receive the album. 

Ryan’s voice was nice. It was light and cheerful, summery. It made Brendon feel like things were okay. He could listen to the music and get lost in it. 

The first song ended and moved on to another upbeat song, though this time it felt a little slower. “The track order isn’t set in stone yet, but the first song is definitely the first song,” Ryan said. He drummed his fingers nervously on the table, filling the silence between tracks. 

More of Ryan’s music played. It was all angry, passionate, filled with guitars and loud drums. It was difficult to believe that Ryan had written all this, he’d seemed so calm and unbothered to Brendon. Though the songs all had that same ferocious tone, they were different. Each had its own flavor, something to remove it from the rest. 

“This is the last song,” Ryan informed, speaking over the first chords. This was on piano for a change, softer but still strong. Ryan kept tapping the table nervously, more in the first songs. Brendon watched him while listening to the music, his eyes darting back and forth from listener to listener. 

After a long intro of piano, Ryan’s voice finally came in, and Brendon watched as the man grew even tenser. Another difference in the song was it’s polar opposite range of those that came before, in a low, husky range rather than the clear middle notes. Brendon didn't know much about vocal ranges, but he’d been in choir during middle school. According to the director, he was a tenor and could sing pretty well. He’d quit when he’d moved up to high school. 

This song was sad. Not angry, like all the others, just sad. Ryan poured his heart out into lyrics, showing Brendon a side of Ryan he hadn’t yet seen. The man he’d met was cheerful, friendly, not this deep, lyrical side he was now discovering. Brendon wasn’t upset, though, just surprised. 

The song ended, and all the listeners but Ryan began to clap, some (mostly Gabe) even cheering and whooping. Ryan just smiled, proud. Gabe patted him on the back, and Ryan leaned into it, smiling at the tall man. Brendon bristled, though he still didn’t know why. 

“So you liked it?” Ryan asked, his mouth shaped in a grin but his eyes nervous. 

“It was great,” Spencer said, “The album of the summer, I can feel it.” 

Ryan rolled his eyes, “That’s not true,” he scoffed, “This is mediocre at best.”

“If this is mediocre I don't even want to hear above average,” said a brunette girl sitting a few seats down. 

Brendon stayed quiet. It felt wrong to add to the conversation between all of these people who were so close, he was an outsider. Speaking might be some sort of intrusion to the group of friends, not to mention he didn't even know what to say. 

Gabe disappeared into the kitchen saying something about Spencer’s drinks and the table broke into separate conversations. Ryan turned towards Brendon. “How’re you doing?” he asked. 

Brendon was a bit taken by surprise by the question. “Oh- Tired, I guess.”

Ryan laughed, “I guess you haven’t partied much in a while, have you? You’ll get used to it.” 

It’s not that he hadn’t partied in a while, although that was true. Talking to everyone, or avoiding talking to everyone, was just exhausting. The last thing Ryan had said caught Brendon by surprise too, though, that he would get used to partying. Did he mean he would be partying more in LA? Staying with him? Brendon tried not to think about it, but it still stuck with him. 

“I guess I will,” he said, trying to keep a calm face as Gabe came back into the room with the whiskey, and more drinks seemed to emerge. It seemed this was the most intense part of the night. Brendon felt a bit more worry build in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t had anything to drink in a long time, and he knew he wouldn’t take it well. He was the kind of person who couldn’t stay sober when everyone else was drinking, and a lightweight. Once he was drunk he was emotional and spilled secrets, something he couldn’t afford to do in a group of strangers.

Still, when Ryan poured him a glass of whiskey, Brendon took it and drank it. After all, he was in LA now, and things were different. Maybe now he could leave things behind and be a normal guy, get drunk without crying in some stranger’s arms. 

 

Brendon had been wrong in his assumption he could be a normal drunk. After his glass of whiskey and far too many shots, he felt the thoughts of what happened in Utah coming back to him. Even more importantly, he felt that tight feeling in his chest coming back more than ever, but now he couldn’t stop it. He excused himself from the group of people he was dancing with and stumbled his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and sitting down in the bathtub, trying to collect his thoughts.

It didn’t work. Without Gabe’s record player in the background, it seemed Brendon’s thoughts were louder than ever, and therefore more powerful than ever. The tight feeling in his chest grew and grew until it felt like a vacuum was forming in his lungs and sucking the air out of his body, leaving his fingers and toes tingling and cold from lack of oxygen. Was he having a heart attack? Was he dying? 

This only sent him into an even bigger frenzy, and he began to breathe heavily, terrified tears streaming down his face. What was happening? 

After what felt like an eon, there was a knock at the door. “Is anyone in there?” a man’s voice asked. 

Brendon’s voice caught in his throat, but he managed to get out a stuttering “yeah.” 

“Brendon? Is that you?” asked a new voice. It was Ryan this time. 

“Yeah,” Brendon repeated, taking a few slower, gulping breaths. Maybe he wasn’t dying. 

Finally getting out of his own head, sounds outside started to fade into his hearing. Ryan’s hushed voice shooed people away and spoke again. “Are you okay? Spencer said it sounded like you were hyperventilating.” 

“I’m fine,” he said, voice raising an octave at the end. He was not fine. He started crying again. 

There was a click at the door, and it swung open revealing Ryan. His eyes swung around the room before landing on Brendon. His eyes filled with pity. 

“You wanna go home?” Ryan asked. Not if Brendon was okay, what was wrong, just if he wanted to go home. Brendon nodded. 

“Let’s go home,” Ryan said, and reached a hand out to Brendon. He took a shaky breath and grabbed the hand, slowly hoisting himself up. He felt wobbly and for a second he was sure his legs would give out, but he got his balance and stepped out of the tub. Ryan put an arm around him, keeping him on his feet, and led him out of the tiny bathroom and into the rest of the house. 

People had gone back to dancing, but it was obvious their real focus was on Brendon. If he wasn’t an inch from vomiting all over Gabe’s nice carpet, Brendon might’ve felt embarrassed. Ryan kept leading him through, avoiding the people who stared and slowed their dancing. 

“I’ll see you later, guys!” Ryan said and guided Brendon out the open front door. Someone closed it behind them, shutting in the music and quiet chatter of the party-goers. It was quiet, and with the darkness of night came the cold. Brendon wished he’d brought a jacket. 

Ryan took his to the passenger side of his car and let Brendon rest against the window as he opened the door. Brendon sat down and Ryan walked around and started the car. They pulled out of the driveway in silence, but once they got a few houses down Ryan glanced at Brendon, who sat staring straight ahead, embarrassment starting to set in. 

“So what happened in there?” Ryan asked. 

Brendon took a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t really know,” he said, “I just- everything came into my head, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, even though he didn’t know. “I know you just turned eighteen,” he said, “Have you ever gotten drunk before?”

As shitty as he felt, Brendon was a bit embarrassed Ryan thought he had never gotten drunk before. Did he come off as that innocent? “No, of course I’ve gotten drunk before. And I’ve felt awful every time… It’s just never gotten that bad.” 

“Bren,” Ryan said, “If I’d known I wouldn’t have given you the whiskey. You should’ve told me.”

Something in Ryan’s voice tugged at that same knot in Brendon’s stomach. He felt tears forming in his eyes again, and with them came those same memories from Utah. His dad, the rundown house, his birthday. Suddenly he was crying again.

“I would’ve had something anyways,” Brendon said, “I’m a follower, I guess.” 

Ryan gave him a sad look. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked. 

“About why I still drink?” Brendon asked. 

Ryan shook his head, “No, why you were crying in my best friend’s bathtub, and in the passenger seat of my car.” 

“Oh. That. Yeah.” Brendon didn’t really want to talk about it, but suddenly his mouth was moving and saying words he wasn’t really sure he wanted to say. “Getting drunk just really isn’t a nice time, man.” He felt more tears building up, “And every time I get drunk it’s like all the awful things I think about and try to stop just come back even worse? And now I can’t stop them as well?”

“So that happened tonight?” Ryan asked. 

“Yeah.” Brendon nodded, “And I was thinking about my dad, and then it was just too much. I didn’t want to cry in front of you, and all the others, so I went into the bathroom, and then I was crying a lot, and I guess the bathtub seemed like a good place to cry. So I sat in the bathtub.”

Ryan smiled a bit. “The bathtub is a good place to cry. So what happened with your dad?” His smile disappeared for the second half, suddenly becoming more concerned. 

“We just didn’t part on good terms… I guess,” Brendon said. That was an interesting way to put it, but it wasn’t false. He’d spent his first week and a half on the road with a black left eye. 

“Did you fight?” Ryan asked. 

Brendon nodded, “Yeah. We did. I told him I was gay.”

And then the words were out of his mouth. He wasn’t planning on saying them, but suddenly they were there, in the air between him and Ryan. The car swerved a bit, Ryan’s head snapped to see Brendon. He didn’t seem angry, just surprised, which was a good sign. 

Ryan took a breath. “That’s fine,” he said. Brendon felt a flutter in his stomach, like some of the lump in his stomach had broken off and flown away.

“Thanks,” Brendon said, “But my dad didn’t like that.” He took a shaky breath and stopped talking. Ryan didn’t ask anything else. He had taken enough for now. 

“I’ll make some tea,” Ryan said. They were pulling into the driveway. Brendon didn’t reply.

Though he’d only lived there for a day, Ryan’s house was comforting to Brendon. More comforting than Gabe Saporta’s bathtub, and far more comforting than his house in Utah had ever been. Maybe it was because Ryan was there, and Ryan was probably the first person who had ever truly cared about Brendon. He was probably overthinking things and getting too attached to Ryan, but maybe he did care. Maybe there was something there. 

Brendon sat on the couch as Ryan made the tea, letting Dottie crawl into his lap and lick his hand while he waited and thought. He doubted Ryan really cared about him. He didn’t know why else he would let him stay in his house for so long, but there was probably some ulterior motive Brendon was just too innocent to notice. Maybe he was just drugging the tea. Maybe he was a murderer. 

Ryan came back with two cups of tea, and Dottie climbed over to lie between Ryan and the arm of the couch. “You can stay for as long as you need,” he said, “I think it’s shitty you would have to wander around for a year after getting wrongfully kicked out by your shitty homophobic dad.” 

Brendon almost spat out his tea. “Thank you,” he said. No one had ever been this nice to him. Ryan pitied him, that was for sure, but it wasn’t the kind of pity people had for homeless people on street corners, it was a pity from one friend to another. Because, it seemed, for the first time in a long time, Brendon had a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long! With winter setting in (and some exam-induced writers block) I couldn't quite get this chapter out of my head, but I've finally been able to post it! Can you believe it's only been three months? I've been listening to a lot of Leonard Cohen recently, even though it doesn't fit this story at all (yet) but I would definitely recommend listening to Cohen while listening to throam (read this first, of course).


End file.
